Those Who Wait
by kia maro
Summary: Sirius Black is not a patient man. Not now, not ever. Realizing his past is someone else's future doesn't make it easier. Lying low, waiting, preparing and stalling to make sure this other person's future happens, even if it means he can look forward to another twelve years in hell on Earth, Azkaban. Rating T to M.
1. Chapter 1

Here is a teaser for my new story "Those Who Wait." Tell me what you think.

Sirius Black is not a patient man. He does not believe in the saying "good things come to those who wait." Instead he has always lived by the motto "boredom comes to those who wait" and when he was a boy and a young man he made sure he was never bored.

As a boy at Grimmauld Place he used to say or do something, anything to get a rise out of his younger brother. Sometimes he was found out and punished, but most often he found the physical pain worth the action. Winding Regulus up was good fun, playing nicely with Regulus, who most often wanted to practice some kind of undetectable, under age wizards' Dark Art, was not.

When Sirius came home after his first term at Hogwarts he was punished within an inch of his life for being sorted into Gryffindor. He spent Christmas in bed, beaten and broken, actually asking Regulus politely to bring him food, just to survive, but still it was worth it. Befriending James Potter, Remus Lupin and even little, chicken-hearted Peter Pettigrew had been the best thing that ever had happened to him. Well, second best, but at that stage of his life his new friends pretty much guaranteed boredom was kept at bay.

Later, much later Sirius found himself in the hell of Azkaban. To the inpatient 21-year-old it was double hell. Designed to deprive the prisoners of all their happy memories, the only survival strategy possible was to wallow in unhappy thoughts and memories.

_I suspected Remus, but it was Peter who betrayed James and Lily. I can't protect Harry from here. I'm innocent. When my brother joined the Death Eaters I hated him, when I found out he was a double spy he was already dead. I sent my lovely, lovely girl into the future, I have no idea to when, nor if I'll ever, ever see her again. Good, Bellatrix is here too…_

The last thought faded rather quickly, as the malice and spitefulness in it was remotely related to happiness. Over the years Sirius stopped himself from thinking about the girl as well, he didn't even dare to whisper her name at night. He knew that if the Dementors got hold of his memories of her, and took them, swallowed them, burned them, or whatever the nightmarish creatures did with the happiness hidden in the prisoners, he would go irreversibly insane and loose all ambition and desire to one day escape.

The other, double dimension of the hellish experience of the wizarding prison was, of course, waiting. Even though too terrified and depressed to be bored, it was waiting all the same. When Minister Fudge, on a whim, granted Sirius' polite request for a newspaper his waiting became more focused than before. It became preparing, rather than waiting. Preparing for the day his Animagus form would be emaciated enough to slide through the bars of his cell on a day when new prisoner had been brought in and kept the Dementors feasting on the new happiness in the three-cornered maze in the middle of the North Sea. And on a day the North Sea would be relatively calm. After twelve years the day came.

Presently Sirius is at Remus' cottage. He is lying low, off the radar of both Death Eaters and the Ministry. He has the feeling Remus' cottage will be his haven more than once, Remus being the only one Sirius trusts, and Remus, once again, trusting Sirius. After having surpressed most feelings for years, Sirius is more or less drowning in them now. Anger, guilt, sorrow, denial, shock, longing, in short, most negative emotions under the sun. Hints of relief, calmness and love prevent him from going insane.

He has briefly considered going to London, to Grimmauld Place. He has found out it has been empty for eight years, since his mother's death, but the fact that his mother was the last living creature in his family home doesn't appeal to him. He still remembers her vile perfume clinging to every piece of fabric outside his own room, and he has a hunch that the portrait that was being painted the last time he was there, seventeen years ago, was something more than just narcissism on his mother's part. His eyes flick open when he sees the mounted elf-heads in his memories. No, he does not want to go there. He does not want to be alone. He has been alone enough for a lifetime.

Remus enters the room and sinks down in an armchair in front of the hearth. A fire is roaring, gradually warming Sirius. He has been cold for over a decade and the process is slow. He sits on the floor, closer to the fire than Remus does, and rests his back against the other armchair. Partly to be closer to the fire, partly because ha can't really handle the plush furniture. The softness is suffocating to a man whose greatest luxury for twelve years has been being able to fall asleep, regardless of the material he rests on. Even Remus' threadbare carpet feels a little unsteady underneath Sirius' gaunt body.

"Sirius?"

Sirius hears himself growl in response. He focuses on his human personality and struggles to switch to a more versatile language than 'dog.'

"I'm sorry. Padfoot had been more wordy than I for a long time."

Remus watches him with more compassion than Sirius can handle. He looks into the fire, relishing in the heat against his skin. His skin is tender and dry after countless baths, and he can't feel his hair that has been a constant, itching, heavy helmet of dirt on his head for as long as he can remember. He doesn't like his reflection in Remus' bathroom mirror, where it's far too easy to see exactly what his skull looks like. His eyes and cheeks are sunken on each side of his cheekbones. There were spots of grey in his beard before he shaved it off. There is even a strand of grey in his hair, but he keeps it shoulder length anyway. It helps to hide his face.

Remus sighs and Sirius ventures a glance at him. Remus looks, if not old, at least grown up and weary. The last time, before everything went to hell and Azkaban, and they spoke Remus still had boyish features, as did Sirius. There is nothing boyish about the werewolf now, only angles and scars.

"How long have you known it was her, Remus?"

END OF TEASER

* * *

NOTE FROM KIA:

I can't really resist any longer. Despite a full time job and a full time family I find new plot bunnies distracting me to no end. I've started a new multi chapter Sirius/Hermione fic, Those Who Wait. It's time traveling story, but not one that dwells too much on Hermione settling in in the Mauraders' last year at Hogwarts. Rather how to merge the two parallell time lines in the end. I'm a canon girl up until the Battle of Hogwarts, so up until then it's pretty much what happens behind closed doors and around the corner, without messing with the canon of JKR. Up until the Battle of Hogwarts that is... Maybe I should point out that I will never ever write an under-age passionate consummated relationship-story, even though I don't shy away from M-rating. I mean, this is an M-rated story. Having reread "A Hidden Agenda" I realize I need a beta reader. Interested? Feel you have the time? Both my other stories "A Hidden Agenda" and "Wishing" are un-betaed, so please check them out to see how much editing there is to do. Not too much, I should think, but now when I reared them I see minor grammar mistakes on almost every page. Send me a PM if you are interested. Or review with a line or two to keep me going. It would make my day and I give me a healthy dose of inspiration to struggle through the writing of the story. It NEEDS to get written, I can't focus on anything, until it's written...

Love, Kia


	2. 1994, spring

**The teaser I published the other night is the beginning of the first chapter. Here is the whole first chapter, approximately three times longer than the teaser.**

**The time-line is Hermione's, the point of view shifts. My previous story kept to Sirius' point of view at all times, here I've decided to try something else, so each chapter is two-fold, but from two different points of view.**

**Of course I don't own anything in JKR's universe, I just play around with her stars. See more on my bio for what I do and don't do.**

**Love, Kia**

1994

Sirius Black is not a patient man. He does not believe in the saying "good things come to those who wait." Instead he has always lived by the motto "boredom comes to those who wait" and when he was a boy and a young man he made sure he was never bored.

As a boy at Grimmauld Place he used to say or do something, anything to get a rise out of his younger brother. Sometimes he was found out and punished, but most often he found the physical pain worth the action. Winding Regulus up was good fun, playing nicely with Regulus, who most often wanted to practice some kind of undetectable, under age wizards' Dark Art, was not.

When Sirius came home after his first term at Hogwarts he was punished within an inch of his life for being sorted into Gryffindor. He spent Christmas in bed, beaten and broken, actually asking Regulus politely to bring him food, just to survive, but still it was worth it. Befriending James Potter, Remus Lupin and even little, chicken-hearted Peter Pettigrew had been the best thing that ever had happened to him. Well, second best, but at that stage of his life his new friends pretty much guaranteed boredom was kept at bay.

Later, much later Sirius found himself in the hell of Azkaban. To the inpatient 21-year-old it was double hell. Designed to deprive the prisoners of all their happy memories, the only survival strategy possible was to wallow in unhappy thoughts and memories.

_I suspected Remus, but it was Peter who betrayed James and Lily. I can't protect Harry from here. I'm innocent. When my brother joined the Death Eaters I hated him, when I found out he was a double spy he was already dead. I sent my lovely, lovely girl into the future, I have no idea to when, nor if I'll ever, ever see her again. Good, Bellatrix is here too…_

The last thought faded rather quickly, as the malice and spitefulness in it was remotely related to happiness. Over the years Sirius stopped himself from thinking about the girl as well, he didn't even dare to whisper her name at night. He knew that if the Dementors got hold of his memories of her, and took them, swallowed them, burned them, or whatever the nightmarish creatures did with the happiness hidden in the prisoners, he would go irreversibly insane and loose all ambition and desire to one day escape.

The other, double dimension of the hellish experience of the wizarding prison was, of course, waiting. Even though too terrified and depressed to be bored, it was waiting all the same. When Minister Fudge, on a whim, granted Sirius' polite request for a newspaper his waiting became more focused than before. It became preparing, rather than waiting. Preparing for the day his Animagus form would be emaciated enough to slide through the bars of his cell on a day when new prisoner had been brought in and kept the Dementors feasting on the new happiness in the three-cornered maze in the middle of the North Sea. And on a day the North Sea would be relatively calm. After twelve years the day came.

Sirius is at Remus' cottage. He is lying low, off the radar of both Death Eaters and the Ministry. He has the feeling Remus' cottage will be his haven more than once, Remus being the only one Sirius trusts, and Remus, once again, trusting Sirius. After having supressed most feelings for years, Sirius is more or less drowning in them now. Anger, guilt, sorrow, denial, shock, longing, in short, most negative emotions under the sun. Hints of relief, calmness and love prevent him from going insane.

He has briefly considered going to London, to Grimmauld Place. He has found out it has been empty for eight years, since his mother's death, but the fact that his mother was the last living creature in his family home doesn't appeal to him. He still remembers her vile perfume clinging to every piece of fabric outside his own room, and he has a hunch that the portrait that was being painted the last time he was there, seventeen years ago, was something more than just narcissism on his mother's part. His eyes flick open when he sees the mounted elf-heads in his memories. No, he does not want to go there. He does not want to be alone. He has been alone enough for a lifetime.

Remus enters the room and sinks down in an armchair in front of the hearth. A fire is roaring, gradually warming Sirius. He has been cold for over a decade and the process is slow. He sits on the floor, closer to the fire than Remus does, and rests his back against the other armchair. Partly to be closer to the fire, partly because he can't really handle the plush furniture. The softness is suffocating to a man whose greatest luxury for twelve years has been being able to fall asleep, regardless of the material he rests on. Even Remus' threadbare carpet feels a little unsteady underneath Sirius' gaunt body.

"Sirius?"

Sirius hears himself growl in response. He focuses on his human personality and struggles to switch to a more versatile language than 'dog.'

"I'm sorry. Padfoot had been more wordy than I for a long time."

Remus watches him with more compassion than Sirius can handle. He looks into the fire, relishing in the heat against his skin. His skin is tender and dry after countless baths, and he can't feel his hair that has been a constant, itching, heavy helmet of dirt on his head for as long as he can remember. He doesn't like his reflection in Remus' bathroom mirror, where it's far too easy to see exactly what his skull looks like. His eyes and cheeks are sunken on each side of his cheekbones. There were spots of grey in his beard before he shaved it off. There is even a strand of grey in his hair, but he keeps it shoulder length anyway. It helps to hide his face.

Remus sighs and Sirius ventures a glance at him. Remus looks, if not old, at least grown up and weary. The last time, before everything went to hell and Azkaban, and they spoke Remus still had boyish features, as did Sirius. There is nothing boyish about the werewolf now, only angles and scars.

"How long have you known it was her, Remus?"

Remus meets his gaze with a confused expression, as if he doesn't know what Sirius means. He doesn't really answer the question when he speaks.

"Sirius, up until two days ago I believed you was the one who betrayed Harry's parents. For twelve years I have tried to put you out of my mind, feeling the wolf in me baring his teeth every time I thought about you. When Harry told me he'd seen Peter on the map, our map, I spent a night trying to rethink everything, I even went to see Sybill Trelawney."

Sirius raises an eyebrow and the left corner of his mouth. Divination was always a subject for Remus' scorn during their Hogwarts days.

"Well, what would you have med do?" Remus blurts. "I could hardly discuss your possible innocence with Severus. Albus was not available, and Hagrid is… well, not very subtle. It's either/or with him, and I knew he became as convinced as I back when… When you were arrested. We suspected each other, you and me, didn't we? And then you spent twelve years knowing we were both innocent, while I was sure as hell you were a Death Eater who had sold James and Lily to…"

"If things had been different, the other way around, I would have done the same. I never thought Peter had it in him; he just wasn't clever or brave enough. He was just scared enough, and I will, by Merlin, find him and make him pay."

"And I'll help you, Sirius. But to answer your question, yes, I recognised her on the train before we even got to Hogwarts. I was dozing in a compartment of my own, it was no more than three days after the full moon, and I was a wreck. I heard the door open and a few kids come in. I pretended to sleep, wrapped in my coat, hearing their voices distantly. I recognised her voice before I even saw her. Two boys, Harry and Ron, it turned out, discussed who I was, and she told them. With that sharp deduction of hers she said my name together with my new title, Professor R. Lupin, after reading it on my trunk. Her voice is more like who she was when we knew her, than her looks, she is still very young, just a child."

Sirius grinds his teeth and supresses a very doglike whining. He sighs and hides his face in his hands. Remus continues.

"For the better part of this year, well, as I said before, up until two days ago, I saw her in the light of what I believed was true about you, Sirius. She is bright, exceptionally so, but I've pitied her. I've seen her as this bright, young, compassionate, loyal witch who will grow up, for some reason slip through a time warp and meet you only to be… I don't know, sometimes I thought you had killed her before you drove to Godric's Hollow that Halloween."

"Killed her?" Sirius whispers through his hands. "Are you insane? I sent her away, I turned the hourglass on her time turner myself, forcing the chain into her hands, being the one who let go, she begged me to let her stay, telling me all secrets about the future we had tried to coax out of her for as long as we had known her."

"I hoped that was what happened. When I met her last September, so young, I wondered if she might be your daughter."

"My daughter?" Sirius voice is still a whisper, his eyes somewhere behind Remus head. He is too exhausted to use complete sentences, too emotionally unstable to maintain eye contact with his friend.

"Yes, if… Hermione," Remus uses her name for the first time, and Sirius closes his eyes, "had been pregnant when she… eh, went back…"

"She wasn't." Sirius voice is hoarse. "If she had been I wouldn't have sent her away. I wouldn't have gone to James and Lily's if… No, I think I would have fled the country. With her of course."

"I believe you. But she is just a girl now, she is thirteen. I knew her, I remember her as an adult. How old were we? Nineteen? Barely adults. And if she had been your daughter she would have been at least two years younger than Harry. She is a few months older, I've checked."

Sirius leans back against the armchair, craning the back of his neck so he watches the exposed beams in ceiling.

"I hid my memories of her while I was in prison. During the past year, when I've been on the run, I've relived them, again fearing I'll never see her again, and now when I have I wish I hadn't. How can I…? She's Harry's best friend. She is your student. She has no idea."

"You can be her friend, Sirius."

Sirius tilts his head and meets Remus' amber eyes.

"I can never be her friend."

Remus frowns, not directly at Sirius statement, but at something his quick mind concludes. His gaze wanders around the room; the fire, the mantelpiece with candles, the desk and bookcases before he faces Sirius with determination written across his tired and scared features.

"Oh, yes you will. Back then, you had been her friend before. You might even have been more, I don't really want to know, but the confidence she showed when she landed among us during our last term came from somewhere. She knew both of us before, she didn't know James and Lily, and she shuddered when Peter touched her."

"She couldn't change the future," Sirius mumbles. "She always said she couldn't change the future. The outcome, she said once, but she wouldn't say the outcome of what. But outcome, Remus, that is a word you only use about wars, isn't it?"

Remus nodded.

"But you still need to be her friend, Sirius. To give her older self, and your younger self what you once had."

"I know, Remus. But how can I? How can I be her friend without being repulsed by my own memories? She is a child! And I feel sick when I see how pretty she is."

"She wasn't a child then. She is now. And remember what Albus said when we graduated."

"What was that? Never do anything that you can get someone else to do?" Sirius snarls.

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. You haven't got your 20s back, but you are out of Azkaban with most of your sanity intact." Sirius huffs at this. "You have me and Albus on your side. You have Harry. You matter to him. To me. You can matter to her to."

Sirius faces the fire and nods.

1994

_Hermione and Harry run, almost bent double, after Crookshank's bobbing tail in the tunnel. Ahead they hear Ron cry out in pain. Her shoulder aches and she feels blood trickling down her chest, the metallic scent fuelling her panic. Somewhere in her mind she has a hunch about where they are going to end up. She always had a good sense of orientation. Wooden stairs in front of them confirmes her suspicions; they are in the cellar of the Shrieking Shack. Harry grabs her right hand, she holds her left hand across her chest to keep her cut shoulder as still as possible._

_Her imagination plays various scenarios in her mind. Ron dead. Ron being trashed by that dog, or is it a wolf? Care of Magical Creatures has been a neglected subject during their third years at Hogwarts. Hagrid started out with good intentions, but being Hagrid he has focused mainly on really rare creatures. Hermione wants to know more about the semi-magical creatures like wolfs, rats, toads, bats and owls, but Hagrid is more info fire crabs and unicorns. What are the odds you come across those in real life, compared with a wolf that could very well turn into a werewolf once a month? Her mouth goes dry at the thought. She knows about professor Lupin and his sick leaves every month. Does he have a mate? Or is the dog another shape of their professor? Somehow she knows the dog is connected to professor Lupin in one way or the other._

_ "Mind that step," Harry whispers and pulls her close, next to a large hole in the worn wood. _

_ She feels his heart beat furiously against her back. He grabs her left shoulder and a shot of pain clears her mind. They nox their wands and creeps closer to the half-open door._

_ "Together," she whispers with more confidence than she feels. Harry nods and they burst through the door together._

_ It is Crookshank's who undo them. Lying on a once magnificent four-poster bed and purring his heart out, they lose their focus and are totally unprepared for Ron's rambling that reveals who is behind another half-closed door._

_ Not a dog. An Animagus. Sirius Black, mad mass murderer on the run from prison. Most wanted in Magical Britain for the better part of a year, even wanted by muggle authorities. Here? Going after Ron?_

_ Hermione's quick mind can't put the pieces together they way she usually do. She only knows Harry is the one she needs to protect. She takes a step to stand in front of him._

_ "If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us too."_

_ Black looks past her, straight at Harry behind her. Then Harry shoves her aside and goes for Black._

_ "No, Harry!"_

_ Then a blur of Harry actually bringing the adult wizard down, professor Lupin appearing and disarming Harry, ally with Black and turning her world upside down. Tears of disappointment fall down her cheeks while she screams at her once admired professor, whose secret she has kept since October._

_ "I trusted you!" she yells at professor Lupin. The words come without she has to think about them or how to string them together. Her, by fear and panic wide-open, mind registers Black having gone silent and still, almost paralysed and not watching them anymore. Staring into space while she argues with his friend. After only a few seconds Black snaps out of it and begins a litany of killing, waiting, Azkaban in his hoarse, broken voice. While professor Lupin considers Black's plan, demands, inevitabilities, Black looks at her across the room. Harry holds her left hand, hard enough to top the pain from her shoulder, but she doesn't want it any other way. They both need someone to cling to, having been robbed of the trust they have felt for their all times best Dark Arts teacher ever. But Black looks at her for two second's worth of silence. He looks at her as if he recognizes her. His sunken but shining eyes look straight at her. Softly. Sadly. Painfully._

_ "Very well," says professor Lupin and gives Black Harry's wand. "Kill him."_

Hermione wakes up with a gasp and bolts up in a sitting position.

_ Did I scream? _

But only light snores and deep breaths are heard from the other beds in her dormitory. She can't wake up anyone else. What they did two nights ago only professors Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall know, apart from those who were in the Shrieking Shack. She wishes she could wake up Harry. Ron is still in the hospital wing. Silently she creeps out of bed, pulls on her dressing gown and continues down the stairs to the common room. A house-elf immediately appears and asks her if she needs anything or if she is feeling ill.

"I'm fine," she assures the small creature with her concerned tennis ball-sized eyes. "A dream woke me up. Could you bring me a cup of tea, please? Or would you rather I came down to the kitchen and made it myself?"

The house-elf looks appalled.

"To the kitchen, miss? No, no, no. Penny will make your tea. You take milk, but no sugar?"

Hermione nods, moved by the elf's infallible memory, and actually feels her eyes becoming teary.

"Was it a bad dream, miss?" the elf asks. "Would you like Penny to make you chamomile tea? Penny's chamomile tea chases nightmares away."

Hermione smiles warmly at the little elf.

"No, Penny. It wasn't a nightmare, just a very vivid dream. I'd like a cup of tea and think about it, rather than going back to sleep and forget it."

Penny is gone with a small crack. Hermione puts a few pieces of wood on the dying fire and ignites them with her wand. Then she sinks down in the couch and thinks about the dream. It pretty much replayed what happened two nights ago. It was the most overthrowing night of her life. She can still feel he stomach drop when she remembers the flight on Buckbeak. She doesn't like flying. Not on brooms, not even in airplanes with her parents in the muggle world. She did, however, feel a lot safer after Harry and she had rescued Sirius from the Dark Tower and she flew on Buckbeak's back with Sirius' hands around her waist. Even though high above the ground she felt safe and grounded. When they landed with a clatter on the battlements Sirius asked for her wand. Without thinking she handed the worn piece of vine to him and didn't even flinch when he pointed it at her.

"_Vulnera Sanentur_," Sirius muttered under his breath and she felt the gash in her shoulder clean and close itself with a sensation similar to the xylocaine her parents used in their dentistry. Sirius handed the wand back to her, took her by the hand and ushered both Harry and her to a bench around a corner. When he released her hand she felt empty, as if she lost something important. When he turned to Harry with an urgency she wasn't part of she felt rejected and went back to calm and pet Buckbeak. She heard Sirius' voice distantly.

"The ones who love us never really leave us. And you can always find them…" During the short silence Hermione felt something tug at her heart, and knew, could see in her mind's eye, Sirius' calloused and tattooed hand over Harry's heart, before he finished his sentence. "…in here."

She was inexplicably flushed when Sirius took the chains around Buckbeak's neck and mounted the hippogriff.

"You really are the brightest witch of your age," he said and Hermione knew that is the most heartfelt compliment anyone ever has paid her.

The stairs from the boy's dormitory creaks and Hermione holds her breath until Harry dishevelled appears.

"Dreams?" she asks.

Harry nods. Penny apparates with Hermione's tea and magically doubles it to Harry as well.

"I dreamt about Sirius," Harry says, mimicking Hermione's thought. "Do you think he is all right?"

"He is with professor Lupin over the weekend. They have twelve years to catch up on. Yes, I think he is all right. I'm more worried about professor Lupin. The parents won't let him continue teaching now that his lycanthropy isn't a secret anymore."

"Damn Snape," Harry mutters. He sips his tea before he leans his head against Hermione's shoulder. It's her left shoulder, but the healing spell Sirius fixed it with seems perfect. She feels Harry breathe into her hair. Their relationship has always been less complicated then Ron's and hers, and since the night they went into the tunnel under the Whomping Willow Harry and she are even closer than before. She was more than prepared to stand in front of a killing curse to protect him, and that knowledge made her relax against his chest when he embraced her to shield her from the werewolf's attack in the Dark Forest. Maybe they protected each other at the exact same time, with the help of her time turner. She will always protect Harry, and she will always trust him to protect her. She takes his hand and they sit in silence.

"Sirius said I can move in with him when he has been cleared of all charges. He has a house in London. I'd love that. He can tell me things about my parents no one else can. He was their best friend, he and professor Lupin. Those are the only one alive who actually knew them well."

Hermione has a feeling Harry is forgetting someone who also was close, really close to his parents, but she can't put her finger to who it would be.

_ Peter Pettigrew betrayed them. Molly and Arthur are a fair bit older than they were. Neville's parents? They aren't dead, are they? But why is he living with his grandmother? _

A sudden flash picture outlines a small group of young people in her mind. They are sitting in the same couch Harry and she are. One looks like Harry, but older, almost a grown up. Ginny is sitting next to him, no, it must be Lily. Professor Lupin, before he became professor, still boyish and very handsome, points at something in an open book in his hand. On the other side of Lily a dark young man, it must Sirius, sits. He has his arm around a girl, a girl Hermione can't place from the stories she has heard about Harry's parents' Hogwarts days. The girl leans her head against Sirius' chest and her dark golden curls hide her face completely. On the floor, closer to the fire, Peter sits with an unhappy expression across his features. Hermione blinks, repulsed by the poor, weak, scared rat Animagus, and the image is gone all together.

Hermione faces the fire and nods.

**It will only take a second. Liked it? Liked what about it? Didn't like it at all? Why not? Want more? Want more of what?**

**I don't think this will be as long as A Hidden Agenda, but you'll never know with me. Once I get started... Puh!**

**Love, Kia**


	3. 1994, autumn and winter

**Thank you for your support. Here is the next chapter of the story that will not leave me alone. ****Encouragement in the form of reviews is always welcome and motivates me a lot. Love, Kia**

**1994, autumn, Sirius**

"Why does the old tosser complies to arrange the Triwizard Tournament now?" Sirius growls. "He of all people knows that Harry is special, not to mention precious, to the whole wizarding community, all of magical Britain. And then let him participate!? Of course there is some kind of black magic here, the fingerprints of bloody Voldemort are written all over."

"He can't change the rules. Barty Crouch was adamant. It's a legal, binding magical contract," Remus says in a lower voice. He is just as concerned but tries to think, rather than rave.

"Legal? Binding? Since when did Albus really care about that? And Barty Crouch seems senile. I saw him during the first task, he looks decades older than he should. Eyes all glassy, as if he wasn't really there."

"You saw him!? You went to see… How much of a death wish do you have, Sirius? If someone…"

"No one saw me. Maybe Hagrid, he's the only one capable of recognizing me."

"You mean…"

"Yes, Padfoot was there. But, to return to Harry, Albus has spent years protecting him, why use him as bait now? And you know, just as well as I do that Albus isn't the most law-abiding wizard around. My trial, for instance. One would have thought he at least should have visited me, having a soft spot for reformed dark wizards, me being in his Order and coming from the darkest of pure-blood traditionalists."

Remus just nods and pours another cup of tea. Sirius gets up and leaves the room. He returns with a backpack and Remus looks questioningly at his friend.

"I'm leaving. I'll stay in one of the caves I found last year. I want to be close to Harry. Just popping up in the fireplace and only catching him occasionally just isn't good enough. James and Lily trusted me with him. I need to be there, I really do."

Remus nods again.

"Yes, I can see that you must. You've been restless like a ghost since September, so just go. I'll come visit. And come back whenever you need to. You know where the key is."

Remus follows Sirius to the door.

"Have you seen her since…" he asks.

Sirius shakes his head.

"No, not since I left her and Harry on the battlements and took off with Buckbeak. I've mostly been here, you know that."

"She writes to me, sometimes," Remus says. "She knows you have been staying here. She sends her love."

Sirius flinches slightly but says nothing.

* * *

"You did so well with the dragon, Harry. I'm so proud of you. I was about to suggest the Conjunctivitis Curse that the Hufflepuff boy used, but your way was definitely more impressive and, from the dragon's point of view, more fair."

"I didn't really care about the dragon's point of view, Sirius, but thank you."

He blushes and sits down in Sirius' simple campsite. He deflects Sirius questions about the next task, and asks instead about Sirius' and his parents' Hogwarts days. Any other tournaments then? Quidditch Cups? What was Lily's best subject in school? James'? Sirius answers as best he can. He has only seen Harry once since the spring, when Harry took a detour from Privet Drive to Remus' cottage before going to the Burrow and the Quidditch World Cup, and they are far from done with filling in the blanks in Harry's parents' history. Hesitantly he glances to the mouth of the cave where Hermione watches out for them. The cave is far up in the mountains surrounding Hogwarts, and it's possible to spot intruders a mile away. Sirius stood there himself half an hour ago, watching them approaching. Watched her, almost reluctantly, then sighed and tried to feel gratefulness Harry had someone like Hermione so close. Ron is also with them, also trying to talk about the next task in the tournament, but accepting the storytelling Harry wants instead.

"McGonagall gives us dancing lessons," Ron says. "For the Yule Ball. Part of this whole Tournament. Getting dates is the hardest part, even Harry…"

Sirius knows about the tradition, and Ron's tone amuses him. Clearly the boy is terrified by the mere thought of dancing, not to mention girls.

"McGonagall dancing," he muses. "I think you are among very few who have witnessed that. Give it a chance, Ron. You might have fun."

Ron puffs and Sirius hides a smile.

_ So young. So insecure. So much to find out._

He chances a glance at the girl at the cave opening.

"A ball, Hermione, what do you think about that?"

She turns around and gives off a little speech about the Tournament's objectives, a friendly competition (here Harry rolls his eyes), to strengthen the bonds between the schools, and so forth, but it doesn't really matter what she says. She is beaming. She clearly already has a date. He wonders who it is. Neither Harry nor Ron, of that he is certain. Ron is obviously barely aware of her being a girl, and Harry's closeness to her of is a different kind.

* * *

**1994, Christmas**

He watches her, he watches them all from the battlements, hawk-eyed through the stained glass into the ball room. He knows she had some kind of relationship with someone then, or that she will, in her time-line, in a few, less than ten, years from now, but he doesn't know with whom. When he sees her with Harry a part of him wants it to be him, Sirius loves him like a son and wants the world for him. The other part of him growls silently with canine claim.

_Mine._

She dances with a dark Durmstrang student he vaguely recognizes. Transfixed Sirius watches the young man's hands around her waist, knowing exactly what it feels like holding her like that.

_Like holding the whole world in my hands._

Later he watches her run up the stairs crying, and he hates the Durmstrang student with all the Black family fury and ferocity that run in his blood.

* * *

The three of them come to visit him on Boxing Day. Stubbornly he has turned down Remus invitation to spend Christmas at the cottage. The cave is freezing as soon as he doesn't conjure small blue flames that provide warmth but no smoke. When his acute hearing was alerted people were coming, and he had made sure it was the trio, he lit flames around the cave, and the temperature is almost bearable when the teenagers arrive. Sirius doesn't notice the cold anymore. Twelve years of constant temperatures below ten degrees centigrade is not healthy, and definitely harmful in one's perception of cold.

They have brought him food, which he gratefully accepts, even though the same is true about twelve years of constant starvation. No proper hunger. Not for food, at least.

He almost forces Harry to talk about the second task.

"Even if it's not a dragon's egg, you took it from a dragon, didn't you? Have you tried heating it?"

"Yes," Harry mutters. "I've tried everything I can think of, and I've asked Hagrid as well. I told him it was for a school essay, but I think he knew it wasn't, but told me anyway. He told me everything there is to know about hatching eggs, from Phoenixes to penguins, but that's not really the problem. Opening the egg, I mean. The problem is how to keep it open and not loose your hearing. The noise is… I don't know, it's like clawing the blackboard or chewing on stones." He shudders.

"What do you think?" Sirius asks Ron and Hermione. Ron comes from a pure-blood family so different from Sirius' as humanly possible, but the young Weasley has no suggestions. Hermione shivers and pulls her scarf higher around her neck. Sirius lights another flame in his tea mug and gives it to her. She thanks him with a smile and holds the cup with both hands. He has to think hard to remember what they were talking about, but she steers him back on track.

_Always could do that, love, couldn't you? Had you kept me out of Azkaban if I had kept you close?_

"It is as if whatever's in there can't handle the atmosphere you open it in, Harry," she says. "Have you tried open it where it's very cold? Or very warm? You could take it outside. Or go down to the kitchen on Thursdays, when the house-elves bake?"

"How do you know the elves are baking on Thursdays?" Ron asks, but Hermione only gives him an annoyed look and turns to Harry again.

"No, no, I haven't. I can take it out tonight and try. Will you come with me?"

Both nod hesitantly.

"Ever heard of the _Muffliato Charm_?" Sirius asks.

They shake their heads and he teaches them Severus Snape's invention. He doesn't tell them it's their Potions teacher who invented it, of course. Hermione picks it up instantly, as he knew she would. She is fascinated by it, but says she really thinks it's a dubious charm that shouldn't be used in public.

Harry and Ron are restless. It turns out Ron's brothers Fred and George have arranged a small party, which they are eager to get back for. Sirius is sad to see them go, but hides it behind a friendly poker face. He might apparate to see Remus, he says.

"You go," Hermione says. "I'll stay a little while longer. I want to ask Sirius about… that charm."

If the others notice the small pause in her sentence they think nothing of it. Or perhaps they are just really keen on getting back to the Gryffindor common room. Sirius realizes Harry wants to see him alone. That his godson wants to see him, Sirius, like the closest thing to a father figure the world has to offer. Remus was close to Harry last academic year, but being a teacher entails a certain distance. Sirius wants to do this, be some kind of link between Harry and James, and he also realizes it must be just the two of them. With Hermione present, Sirius is far too distracted, and Harry is far too concerned of keeping up pretences of being more grown up than he is.

_She's his age._

_Yes, she is now. She was my age then._

_But today is now, not then._

_Why am I fighting myself?_

_Because by some gene mutation you are righteous and honourable even though you are a Black._

_I… What…? Oh, shut up!_

"Well, bye then. Have fun. I'll walk Hermione back to Hogsmeade."

He waves from the opening of the cave. He doesn't really see the boys anymore, all his senses are aware of is Hermione's presence next to him. She leaves the opening and sits down in the campsite, and he takes the place opposite her.

"Sirius, I'm worried," she says without preamble, and as if she has known him for years and not just since last spring.

_ You have known me for years. You just don't know it yet. And I don't mind you sharing whatever's worrying you. Please, do._

"About?" he asks when she doesn't continue, and only looks into the blue flame in the tea mug she's still holding.

"What? Oh! Harry, of course. I don't know how much he really tries to solve this egg problem. Ever since I first met him, he has been thrown into… things, problems, dark magic related situations without having a say in the matter. And now this, I mean, Cedric, Viktor and Fleur wanted to be part of the tournament. Harry didn't. Again he was drawn into something he can't explain, but being this… this saviour, or whatever he became when he was just a baby, he just goes with it. It is as if he has given up his free will. Whatever Dumbledore says, whatever Hogwarts demands of him, whatever Fudge advices him…" She sobs once, but immediately clears her throat and continues. "I spoke to Cho on the ball, she's Cedric's girlfriend, and she hinted that Cedric had solved his egg. I'm just so afraid for him, Sirius. He's my best friend. He and Ron. And I know Harry is special. But how much is he going to put up with? He's defied V… Vol… Voldemort face to face when he had the Philosopher's stone. He… oh, God, that Basilisk… we were only twelve and he killed it."

She almost rambles and Sirius shuffles over to sit next to her and pulls her close to him. She shivers, and her teeth chatter when she speaks.

"Being terrified of a mass murderer on the run was more or less a walk in the park, last year. But now this? Why the hell does Dumbledore allow it? He could pull strings, couldn't he?" She doesn't wait for Sirius to answer. "And the first task. His dragon broke away. All Harry had was his flying skills. I never…"

Sirius has watched her, fascinated by her quick mind, but ends her stream of words by putting his finger to her lips.

"Hermione. Hermione, stop. Be quiet. Listen to me."

He takes away his finger. Even if the gesture only meant to quell the panic in her words, he is unprepared for the felling of her lips against his skin.

_ Not supposed to feel like this._

He focuses on her childlike features.

_ Father figure. Friend._

She meets his eyes. Dark and teary they beg him for something, anything to help Harry.

"This Cedric," Sirius says. "Is he the Hufflepuff boy?" Hermione nods. "Didn't Harry tell him about the dragons?" She nods again. "Doesn't he owe Harry then? Or isn't he that kind of boy?"

Hermione frowns and looks, alarmingly, a few years older.

"From what I know about him he is fair. I know he was grateful for Harry's tip."

"Maybe he needs to be reminded of that?" Sirius suggests.

The frown disappears and she almost smiles. He strives to see the child in that smile and returns it.

* * *

**Same night, Hermione**

It is colder than before when they make their way back. It's a full moon, but pitch dark in the shadows. Hermione thinks about their former professor Lupin and wonders where he is tonight. Sirius takes her hand when she slips on a spot of ice, and keeps holding it when they come to smoother terrain. She likes it. She likes him. Apart from professor Lupin, she hasn't met anyone who sees Harry as person and not only this unexplainable hero. Well, Ron does, but Ron sees Harry only as a regular person. He is jealous of every danger Harry finds himself in. In that way Ron is an idiot, in all other ways he is her best friend.

"I'll walk you to the gates," Sirius says.

"You don't have to," she answers, not wanting to seem afraid of the dark or be regarded as a child.

"There are other werewolves than Remus. Werewolves who haven't taken any Wolfsbane Potion because they welcome their transformation, and the hunger it entails."

"And Padfoot would play fetch sticks with them to distract them and save me?" she asks. She has no idea why the rather arrogant, provocative or even flirty question slips out of her mind.

"Of course I would," he answers. "Not by playing, though."

She brushes it off with a laugh. Suddenly her hand slips out of his when he stops. She turns towards him. He watches something over her head, beyond her. She realizes that they are at the same spot where Harry and Sirius stood last spring, just after they had left the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack and seconds before the lights from full moon hit professor Lupin's eyes and he lost himself in the Lycanthropy in his blood.

Hogwarts glimmer in the cold light. White frost on the bare trees enhances the image of a painting in the scenic setting. Like a world of its own. Hermione takes a step back to watch it from the same perspective as Sirius. She misses his hand, but when she takes the step towards him he wraps his arms around her from behind and holds her tight. The bitter cold is gone instantly. It feels like letting out a breath after holding it longer than you should. It's the safety of her father's embrace, the love of Harry's and the tingles from Viktor Krum's.

"What do you see, Hermione? What is Hogwarts to you?" he whispers in her ear.

"It's… it's…, well, to me it's a nagging feeling that it's more home than where I grew up. It's where I became normal, even smart and talented after having been the strange kid in every school I attended in the muggle world. It's where my friends are. I never had friends like Harry and Ron before. They are everything to me. It's the best place in the world. In a way it is my whole world now. And for a study geek like me I've heard it's better than Beauxbatons."

"You're not a geek, Hermione," Sirius mumbles. "Harry tells me you are a genius. And he would be lost without you. Finding out about the Basilisk in your second year, for instance.

She feels her cheeks burn, with mixed feelings.

_ They've talked about me. Me?!_

"What do you see, Sirius?"

He clears his throat softly behind her.

"Same as you. The world. Before Hogwarts I didn't live in the real world. I lived in a twisted, demented, warped illusion of it. A blur of pure-blood mania and the very worst reactionaries. My brother was the only one I even tried to talk to, or understand. He let me down in the end though. Joined Voldemort and got himself killed."

Hermione says nothing. She can really see the black and white contrast between his family and what she knows about Sirius' Hogwarts days with Harry's dad.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I shouldn't…"

"No, no, it's fine," she assures him in a whisper. "Hogwarts can be the world to a person for many different reasons."

He says nothing, and she hears him inhale slowly. She knows he will let go of her within seconds and she wishes he wouldn't. Her back is against his chest, and she feels his body heat through his thick knitted pullover and her own thin jacket. She wished time would stop. She wonders if she can go back to this place in time with the time turner that she never got around to giving back to professor McGonagall.

_ If I do go back, to this exact moment, will he know?_

Distantly they hear the bell tower at Hogwarts chime nine.

"It's my curfew," she says and feels very young and guarded.

"I know," he says. "It was the same when I was a student. Too soon. Come on."

He hugs her harder for a too short second and then takes off with quick strides. When they reach the gates, she is flushed and a little out of breath. He seems totally unaffected and even a little dismissive.

_ I'm keeping him from going to support Remus. Why didn't he tell me when Harry and Ron left?_

Professor McGonagall waits for them on the other side of the iron gates. She is wrapped in a large fur coat and a tartan deerhunter hat, and she looks totally unaware of the subzero temperature.

"Minerva," Sirius greets her. "Good to see you."

"And you, Sirius. How are you holding up? I know Albus is working on getting the charges against you dropped. Even Severus has witnessed that Peter isn't dead. But now this Tournament takes all his time. I wish…"

Sirius holds up his hands.

"I'm all right, Minerva. Really. I have Remus, and if worst comes to worst, I can always go to London. Grimmauld Place is completely unplottable, even though I don't really care for the place."

Hermione feels as if she isn't there and is just about to slink through the gates, when professor McGonagall turns to her, but without saying anything. She doesn't understand the expression in her professor's eyes. Pity? Worry? The older woman then turns back to Sirius with a similar, indecipherable look. In the corner of her eye Hermione sees Sirius make a small gesture with his head in her direction. Like there are things he would discuss with her professor if she herself weren't there.

"I'll just… well, good night then. Thank you, Sirius for walking back with me. Take care."

Instantly he turns to her and a smile she couldn't hear in his voice a second ago warms her right down to her toes.

"Good night, Hermione." He leans down and kisses her softly on her cheek. He smells like the forest in the summer. Wood and grass and a hint of pine resin. Before she can react he has withdrawn, and she slips through the gates and begins to walk towards the castle.

After a few yards professor McGonagall calls to her.

"Wait there for me, Miss Granger. I'll just ask Mr Black about something."

Hermione stops and looks back at the two grown ups at the gates. The scene is still very picturesque. She hears snippets of their conversation and tries to look as if she hears nothing at all.

"... so sorry, Sirius."

"… nothing you could do, Minerva."

"I wish time would have been kinder to you. You of all people deserve it."

Sirius shrugs at this. Hermione doesn't understand what they are talking about. His incarceration? Being wanted? His family? But why "time"? He leans closer to the professor and Hermione can only pick up a few words.

"… time comes… … send her back to me… … pray for…"

Hermione sees professor McGonagall cup Sirius' face with her hand and then nod. The next second Sirius takes a step back and waves to her. Hermione lifts her hand, returns his wave and then watches him disappear in the dark.

**Ahh, come on, give me a little love for the weekend. Kia**


	4. 1995, Christmas

**Dear, dear all. What happened with my regular updates? Life, I guess. I don't know what I've done to deserve such a messy, stressful and generally out-of-control life as the one I'm leading, but there's not much to be done about it. Life just happens. As does shit. Sorry. In rare and short periods of time I have completed my third chapter, which I present herewith. It's a long chapter, though. Your feedback would be so valuable and comforting.**

**Love, Kia**

**1995, December, Hermione**

_Dear Hermione,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that it won't turn your Christmas upside down. I'm sure you've heard about the attack on Arthur Weasley, by now. What you may not know is that Harry helped people in the Order so they could find Arthur quickly enough to save his life. He had some kind of dream where he saw it happen. The whole Weasley family and Harry are staying with me for the holidays, to be close to St Mungo's, where Arthur is recovering. I'm happy to have them here, but I'm worried about Harry. He seems to think he is somehow responsible. He told me things about the night it happened, and it scared him more than anything he has been through before. He doesn't sleep, he's moody and withdraws from everyone. The Weasleys don't really notice, but I do. I've never seen him like this before, and I can't really reach him. He doesn't want to speak to me, and I don't know what to do, as I clearly can see that he needs to speak to someone._

_I know it's Christmas, and that normal people such as yourself see this holiday as a time for family and friends. I might be an insensitive bastard to ask you this, but can you find it in your heart to come and see Harry? I've always treasured friends before family, but I know I'm not like most people, and that your family is nothing like mine. You are more than welcome to stay until after the New Year._

_Ron said you were going skiing with your parents, but since you don't like snow in general and snow-covered slopes in particular, I thought I'd ask. _

_I'm sorry if my god fatherly concern about Harry is too much. Please let me hear from you soon._

_Love_

_Sirius_

Butterflies. Lots of them. Despite the damp, grey and dark December, Hermione is intensely aware of butterflies. A whole community of them has taken up residence in her stomach, sending tingling tickles through her body. She hates skiing, but her parents love it, and they are going to the French Alps tomorrow. Her parents won't really miss her that much when there are snowy hills and lifts and after skis to attend. She'll use her usual "I need to study." She had planned to anyway, but in Chamonix. Now she'll do it and stay behind in England. Going to Grimmauld Place. Sirius's letter worries her. She always worries about Harry, fearing that all their mad adventures during the more than four years together is only the beginning of… Beginning of the end? What has happened now?

The butterflies don't come from worry, though. It's the tone in Sirius's letter that conjures them up. She has not been prepared that he would confide in her, but thrilled that he does now. Writing to her as… as a friend, but something more than the adult friend to a child. There is something more there. Something she likes. Something she wants more of.

The first time she visited his house in Grimmauld Place was in August, just before the new school term. But then Sirius had kept mostly to himself, and been in a rather foul mood when he appeared at mealtimes. There hadn't been a trace of the closeness she had felt the previous Christmas, when he had walked her back to Hogwarts from the cave he camped out in. She had been secretly disappointed. The letter she now holds in her hand makes her remember their walk through the frosty evening a year before. Evidently the butterflies also remember, and make her shiver from their wild dance inside.

* * *

She asks the Knight Bus to let her off at Angel underground station on the Northern Line, implying she has plans to continue her journey by this muggle way of transportation. Instead she walks the few blocks to the street with the row of Georgian brick houses, with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Her belongings, including the books she has brought home from Hogwarts are all shrunken inside.

_How do I…? What does Sirius really want me to say to Harry? What if Harry doesn't want to talk to me either? He has been so reticent this term, exploding when I've pressed him. Refusing to tell anyone about his detentions with Umbridge. Has he told Sirius about the blood quills?_

Hermione realises she is as concerned about how her talk with Harry will go, as she is about what Sirius will think about her help.

_Eager to please?_

She blushes and does not want to scrutinize her motives further.

_He__ asked me to come. Me._

Number 12 appears between 11 and 13, looking as grim and uncared for as ever. She hears the doorbell echo inside and runs her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the wild curls the damp weather has caused.

"Kreacher! Where the hell are you? You should get the door! Has anyone seen that bloody elf?" Sirius's voice is cold and annoyed from the other side the thick oak door. Hermione straightens up when she hears his footsteps coming closer.

Her first impression of him matches his angry question about his house elf, but only for a split second. When he sees her his expression changes to the most welcoming smile Hermione has ever seen. The butterflies go even wilder. Sirius takes a step back to let her in, and as if drawn by an invisible line attached to him she crosses the threshold. He holds out his arms and without thinking she walks right into his embrace. When he folds his arms tightly around her she thinks about jigsaw puzzles. For some reason she gets the same feeling as when she finds two azure pieces of the sky in a 2000 pieces puzzle to fit. Pressed to his chest she feels his quick heartbeat. He inhales slowly before he speaks.

"I'm so glad you're here, love. So good to see you. Really. Would you rather have gone to France with your parents?"

She shakes her head against his shoulder and mumbles "no, not at all," while she wishes he won't let go of her. And for a few seconds, he doesn't. Then he takes her around her shoulders, and keeps holding her at arm-length distance.

"Where is Harry?" she asks.

For a second he looks as if he has never met anyone by that name.

"Harry? Oh, Harry! He's upstairs. Third floor, to the left. He's kept Buckbeak company since this morning. But I think you should speak to Fred or George before you go up. Come on. Let me take your bag."

He reaches for her backpack and ushers her towards the library. He keeps his hand at the small of her back, and the tiny touch and the warmth of his hand make her unfocused and rather uninterested in Harry's self-imposed isolation with the Hippogriff.

Fred and George sit opposite each other with two armies of toy soldiers between them. With their wands they make the armies fight a brutal war, and small arms, legs and heads fly off the table, accompanied by low but desperate screams. Sirius clears his throat, and George looks up for a second.

"Let me just kill Napoleon first," he says and continues the fight with his brother. Soon Napoleon dies in a puddle of melted tin, and both brothers look up.

"Sorry about the table, Sirius," George says sheepishly. "I'm afraid I left a burn-mark. Or the Emperor of France did."

"Doesn't matter," Sirius says with a shrug. "I didn't like that table anyway. My mother used to keep her trained rats there. Look who's here."

"Granger, hello," Fred says and rises to give her a hug. Hermione hugs him back and suppresses the fact than Fred's hug does nothing like Sirius's for her, however tender the Weasley twin is.

"Can you tell Hermione what happened before Harry went all bugger-off-everyone-and-leave-me-alone?" Sirius asks Fred.

"Well, sure. We were at St Mungo's, visiting Dad…"

"Oh, Fred. How is Mr Weasley?" Hermione interrupts.

"He's… Well, I think he's getting better. I mean, he survived the attack by the snake, they somehow got control of the venom he got by the bites. Now when you're here you can come with us tomorrow. Are you staying for Christmas?"

Hermione glances at Sirius and finds him looking… expectantly.

_I never took him to be so keen on Christmas._

"Yes," she answers.

"Jolly good. You'll see Dad tomorrow then."

"Now, what happened at St Mungo's yesterday, Fred?" Sirius reminds him.

"OK. We were in Dad's room and George sort of tried getting Dad to tell us whether him being in the Department of Mysteries had anything to do with this weapon or whatever You-Know-Who's after. Since no one want to tell us," he adds with a glance in Sirius's direction. Sirius just shrugs and nods for George to continue. "Well, Mum seems terrified we'll be told anything at all and kicked us out. Said Tonks and Mad-Eye wanted to speak to Dad. So we stood outside Dad's room when brother dear here got this brilliant idea of testing our new product in other environments than at home."

Hermione frowns and George rises and joins them. He puts an arm around Hermione's shoulders and holds out his free hand. It's full of flesh-coloured stings with… ears.

"It's your extendable…"

"…Ears," George finishes for her.

"Can I see one of those?" Sirius asks and untangles one.

"Certainly. Well, anyway, St Mungo's didn't have any Imperturbable Charms against these, because they are out own making, so we could hear everything they talked about in that room. Apparently Mum had spoken about Harry to Dumbledore who had been worried, I really don't know more about what exactly, but then Mad-Eye growled about Harry seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake and that Harry might be possessed without realising it."

"No," Sirius whispers, obviously shaken, even though he must have heard it before.

Hermione frowns again while her quick mind takes in George's words. She thinks about what she knows about visions, about possession and about Harry. Slowly she shakes her head.

"I don't think so," she says eventually.

"You don't?" Sirius gasps.

"No. Where is Ginny?"

"What? Why…? She is… Eh, where is your sister, George?"

"I saw her with Ron in the kitchen a while ago."

"OK," Hermione says and turns towards the kitchen. "I'll talk to you later."

* * *

A couple of hours later most of the guests in Grimmauld Place are gathered in the library, in couches, armchairs and on the floor in front of the roaring fire. Harry looks exhausted but happier than Hermione has seen him in weeks.

_How could he even think he was possessed? Doesn't he take in what happens around him? And he was even the one who found Ginny when she was possessed three years ago, and about to die. If he'd been possessed he wouldn't have had a will of his own, and huge lapses of memory. But there is something. A kind of connection between him and… Like there is a tiny bit of… Voldemort inside him. Is that even possible? I need to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library at Hogwarts…_

She sits in the corner of a small sofa when Ginny comes and sits on the armrest. Ginny twirls the curls of Hermione's hair around her fingers, collect the dark golden tresses in a messy bun and secures it with Hermione's wand. She says in a low voice how happy she is not to be alone among all the boys. They chat in whispers about what Christmas gifts they have bought for the others. Then Ginny stretches from her uncomfortable position and nudges Hermione to make room for her. Hermione moves and finds herself bumping into Sirius, who has taken the other corner of the sofa. She stammers an excuse, but Sirius only smiles at her and shakes his head slightly. He stretches out his arm along the back of the sofa, not really touching her, but close enough for her to feel his body heat radiate on the skin of her exposed neck.

"What on earth did you say to him?" he mumbles.

Hermione shrugs and tells Sirius to talk to Harry about it. It feels wrong of her to reveal Harry's fears and mistakes to a man she knows Harry looks up to as a father and wants to make proud.

Fred shuffles over from his position in front of the fire.

"So, Sirius, what do you think about our Extendable Ears?"

Sirius takes down his arm from behind Hermione and leans forward to discuss pranks in general and the possibilities of the eavesdropping equipment in particular. Hermione is disappointed. For a few seconds Sirius's arm right behind her has recreated the jigsaw puzzle feeling. The satisfaction of a perfect fit. She looks at the fire, beyond Ron's black, shadowed profile, and for once she lets her mind run haphazardly instead of its usual structured way. Surrounded by the familiar scent of rows upon rows of book a red warning light inside her lights up.

_I'm crushing on Harry's godfather. I'm… I'm fifteen years old, he's… I don't know. Can he tell? How pathetic am I? Has anyone noticed?_

Inwardly stunned Hermione sits through an hour of undecipherable small talk. She wants to lean into the corner where Sirius sits and just… just be there, in his presence, curled up, inhaling his scent of grass and pine resin. She forces herself to sit absolutely still and to appear relaxed. Harry crouches down in front of her and pats her hand awkwardly to get her attention.

"What?" she says, not having noticed how he got there.

"Thank you," he says.

"For…? Oh, of course Harry. I was glad to help. You needed…"

"…you," Harry finishes for her.

"I was going to say 'someone who could see your position objectively'," she says with an embarrassed smile. She is suddenly aware of Sirius. He watches them and does not try to hide that he listens to what they say.

"And who would that be but you?" he murmurs to her right and smiles softly.

She can't answer his rhetorical question and feels a blush creeping up her neck.

"You've got my back again and again. I would have needed more lives than a cat without you. Thank you." Harry's eyes are slightly unfocused and Hermione realises that he might have had other drinks than butterbeer. Or far too many butterbeers. This might also explain his embarrassing sincerity. A low voice on her right makes her care less about her friend's state of inebriation.

"You really have, love. I'll be grateful to you forever. Keeping a clear mind like you… well, it's something to pray for. If I can help you at all with this Dumbledore's Army, which I understand was you idea originally, please tell me. I can show you both some really nasty defence spells tomorrow."

"Great!" Harry beams. Then he rises and kisses Hermione clumsily on her cheek. She turns her left cheek to him and can see Sirius realising Harry's state of slight drunkenness. Well, what else is to be expected after two days of not eating and barely sleeping? But Sirius gets up to steady his godson, and for that alone Hermione is momentarily prepared to leave Harry to his false conclusion about being possessed by Voldemort.

Harry and Sirius are the last ones to leave the library but her. She hasn't noticed everyone else leaving, or how late it is. She doesn't want to climb the stairs to her room, though. She shares a guest room with Ginny and doesn't feel up to chatting, giggling and gossiping for another two hours. When Harry has left, supported by his godfather's arm around him, she curls up in the corner of the sofa that is still warm and smells of pine resin.

* * *

**The same night, Sirius**

Sirius smiles at the scene he is about to leave. It's far too familiar. The messy dark hair against the pillow, the glasses on the bedside table, the slight snoring. Harry isn't really drunk, merely exhausted, but he still looks like a carbon copy of James after a wild pub-crawl. Sirius used to be the last man standing, and quite frequently dragging James to the closet bed to sleep it off. In those days, Sirius's drinking habits were very moderate. He had someone to get back to at home, and he was rarely keen on staying out late for a boys' night.

He tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creakiest ones. It's late, and tonight he plans on having a few steady firewhiskey in front of the embers in the fireplace.

The house is warmer than in months, and he flings his robes on a hook in the hall and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He can't decide if he likes having so many people staying for the holiday. He loves the fact that Hermione came to stay, and tries to tell himself it's because Harry needed her clear deduction and convincing reasoning.

_ Harry is entitled to need her. In any way. I need her in a way that hasn't happened yet. Not to her. Was I too obvious earlier? I could have sat there forever, just having her next to me. But the naked skin of her neck almost gave me a heart attack. I was about to pull her wand out of her hair just to see it fall down her shoulders. Why does she have to be so pretty, so soon?_

Sirius stops dead in his tracks in the doorframe leading to the library. The fire still burns with flickering flames and a few candles light up the room in a soft dusk. And Hermione is just where he left her. Almost. Curled up like a kitten in the corner where he's spent the evening unfocused on everything and everyone but her. Silently he crosses the floor and sits down on a chair next to the sofa where she sleeps.

Her features are slightly more rounded than when he knew her. When he first met her she was as thin as a greyhound, as if she had had months of sleeping rough, and almost starved. Her face and hands had also been peppered with small wounds, cuts and bruises and for the first few days, when Minerva McGonagall had asked Lily to help Hermione to settle in in the Head Girl's quarters, Hermione had walked with a barely noticeable limp. But, of course, at that point he already noticed everything about her. Her dark golden hair, the sometimes haunted look in her eyes, her square shoulders, which were always a little tense, her careful, but soft smile, and her faint blush whenever he spoke to her. He came to love that blush in matter of days.

Her dark eyelashes shiver in a dream. It's not a nightmare. He knows what she looks like when someone is threatening her with a knife in her sleeping state. He never really got to know where the incident with the knife happened, but he suspects it's where she got the large scaring on the inside of her left arm. It had looked like distorted letters, but she never wanted him to touch, or even look closely at it. Earlier today, during dinner, he has noticed that her left arm is unmarred and smooth.

_ So, somewhere between now and… how long can I be? Three years? Four?_

He caresses he visually. Her peachy vanilla scent invades his senses. Ever since he was rescued on the back of Buckbeak he has been able to recognise her by her scent alone. On a few occasions he hasn't been able to stop himself from slowly filling his canine sense of smell with her. He hopes she hasn't noticed and found it freaky.

Her right arms is bent under her head against the armrest, the other one rests across her chest, her left hand clenched against her long neck.

_ You will be stiff and sore tomorrow. You will crane and stretch that long neck of yours and drive me insane._

Hesitantly he touches her shoulder. She doesn't react. He strokes her shoulder with his thumb a little to wake her up, and his skin comes in contact with hers. He closes his eyes to the sensation, and tries to close his mind to what his memory conjures up.

_ Your collarbones and shoulders. Thin but strong enough to bear just about everything. Things really will go to hell between now and then, won't they? You have an innocence about you now I never even glimpsed later._

His eyes flick open when she moves under his hand and he is just about to break the physical contact when she leans into his hand with her face. Sirius forgets to breathe. Her lips against the palm of his hand. A sleepy kiss. Sirius pulls away his hand as if burned. The quick movement wakes her up. Slowly she opens her eyes and stretches her neck.

"Is the guest room that bad?" he asks lightly.

She sees him and blushes slightly.

"Sirius. No, not at all. I just… well, fell asleep. Is it late?"

"Midnight-ish."

"Is Harry asleep?"

The feeling of déjà vu is so intense it makes Sirius's head spin, and be lost for words for a few seconds. Seconds long enough to rush through a memory so strong he can't control it.

_"Is Harry asleep?"_

_ He nods and yawns._

_ "And you?" she continues teasingly, and he nods again._

_ "Nothing is so exhausting as putting babies to bed," he sighs. "It is as if he can feel I want him to fall asleep and refuses, until I lay down and almost nod off."_

_ She pats the place beside her in the sofa._

_ "Come here. I'm sure you did a marvellous job with your godson. James and Lily will be so happy and grateful when they come back."_

_ "When will they be back? What time is it?"_

_ "Late-ish. And late-ish again. Can you think of any other exhausting activities?"_

Sirius shakes his head to clear his mind.

"Yes, he is. He was rather… tired," he finishes lamely, not wanting to use the word 'exhausting.'

"I'm worried about Harry," she says. "As usual."

"I know. You are too compassionate. And maybe too clever."

Hermione looks questioningly at him.

"You can probably see more risks in everything that happens than he, Ron or I put together. Is it a woman thing?"

She blushes.

"Well, I never… I don't know. Maybe. But how can he not see? I mean…?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to?" Sirius suggests, rises and walks over to where he keeps his liquor. He pulls out a glass and glances at her over his shoulder. She frowns in deep thought. Before he pours he flicks his wand at the fire to have it burn stronger and warmer again. Transfixed he watches her stretch her legs against the fire, baring her ankles. He turns away. He really needs that glass of firewhisky.

Not until he turns around Sirius realises his mistake. He has indeed poured himself a glass of Ogden's Finest in one of his mother's crystal tumblers, but by habit, forgotten but awoken tonight, he has poured Hermione a glass of a wine he knows she loves. Or will come to love. He sees her eyes widen in surprise. Of course, what responsible adult would serve the hideously expensive elf-wine to a teenager? Or wine at all? At least not in the large crystal glasses he has dug out especially for Christmas. It's too late to undo, he just has to go along with his mistake and hope it will be the last this evening. Nonchalantly, as if he really does not know how young she is, he holds out the glass to her with an unspoken question in his eyes. Hesitantly she nods, takes the glass and says 'thank you' in a low voice.

"Now, tell me about this Dumbledore's Army," he says. "I understand Harry is doing well as a teacher."

Hermione beams and starts telling him about the secret meetings in the Room of Requirement and the spells Harry has taught them. She sips the wine as if she actually knows how to drink it, not gulping it down like Sirius probably would have done at her age.

"After the holidays Harry might try to teach Patronuses."

Sirius is impressed, but doubtful.

"Is that really appropriate? I mean, many of you won't be able to…" He stops talking when he sees her rage.

"Be able to what?" she says in a low voice he recognises and respects. "Because we are fifteen years old and in our fifth year? Because it's something you learn in Auror training?"

"Hm, well, yes, something like that crossed my mind. It is advanced magic after all." He regrets doubting her. He is certain she would be able to transform him into a frog quicker than he could down his drink.

"Do you know Harry saved your soul with a Patronus almost two years ago? His Patronus is a stag, just like James's."

"But Harry was with me, at the shore of the lake when the Dementors came soaring in…"

"Harry and I went back in time to save both him and you. I have… I mean, I had a Time Turner. Professor Lupin had taught him to conjure up a Patronus earlier that year. It may not be age that decides how advanced your magic is, but your experience, and even though we only in out fifth year, I think we've seen more than… many," she finishes.

"I never knew that," Sirius mumbles and thinks about his godson. He admits that Harry has indeed been in a lot more danger than Sirius himself had been at the same age. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hermione take a larger gulp of wine that before.

_ I could get in so much trouble because of this._

"Please, don't underestimate us, Sirius, just because we are young."

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." Suddenly he is curious if Hermione can conjure up a her Patronus yet. Does she know that her Patronus is an otter? He loves the otter's sleek lines and quick jumps, and can't resist asking for it. "Have you… Do you know what your Patronus is, Hermione?"

"Yes."

"And what is it?"

"Guess," she says and smiles.

_ Otter, otter, otter._

"Eh, I don't know. A cat perhaps? Or a fox? A bird of some sort?"

She doesn't answer, but pulls her wand out of the messy bun her hair is in and closes her eyes. Hungrily Sirius watches her hair fall down around her face and shoulders and her jaw tense in concentration. He almost forgets to watch the silvery otter that suddenly appears from her wand. The silvery light is however too strong to be ignored and he watches the small animal run around the room before it dissolves.

"Brilliant," he whispers. "Beautiful."

"I wonder why it is an otter," Hermione muses. "I love it, but before I saw it I would never had guessed my Patronus is an otter. I would also have guessed a cat, like you did."

_ Yes, Kitten._

She speaks more freely now and Sirius knows it's his and his damned wine's fault.

_ Maybe I should just drink up and say 'good night'_

But he doesn't. He listens to Hermione when she tells him about Hogwarts of 1995. It's different than the Hogwarts he knew sixteen years earlier. He shares some of his school memories with her. Safe ones. Memories where he compares himself and James to Fred and George Weasley, and Remus, the voice of reason, to her. This makes her blush again.

It's harder than he thought to talk about his schooldays with James, without mentioning her, when she sits right in front of him. The silence isn't uncomfortable though. She gazes into the fire, he watches her. He can't tell if she is really sleepy or if her mind is drawing conclusions by its own accord.

_ You never got sleepy from wine, love. What happened was that your deduction and reasoning made larger leaps. Scary when you could pick up on an unfinished conversation from hours before. _

"How do you now that I hate snow?" she asks and meets his eyes.

_ Sleepy? No._

"I guess someone told me," he says, rises and puts two more logs on the fire.

"No." There is something about her tone. Something that makes him feel uncertain. He shrugs.

"Then I guess you must have told me yourself."

"No," she says again.

"But why does it matter? Maybe someone told me that another girl hates snow and I somehow confused you two."

She looks at him with her head cocked to one side. She looks at him as if she doesn't believe him.

_ I can't really tell you that I know this from an afternoon where you told me you hate snow after I had made the most inappropriate remarks about your naked breasts, and their shape made me ask questions about that bizarre muggle sport. Skying? Skating? Skiing?_

Sirius yawns and stretches.

_ I need to leave now, before I put my foot in it ever further._

"I think we should leave this room for Santa to visit tonight," he says lightly, and she rolls her eyes, before she smiles and gets up.

"You are right. Oh!" She is a little unsteady and Sirius grits his teeth and curses himself and the wine he keeps in his cellar even though no one drinks it. He doesn't ask anyone if they want it. He saves it for her and keeps a bottle chilled among the other bottles on the sideboard. He takes her arm to steady her and lead her out of the library. The glass, he notices, is empty.

She is not about to leave, though. She takes a step into his arms and looks up at him.

"Good night, Sirius," she says, rises on her toes and kisses him.

Maybe she aims for his cheek and he moves, or maybe she really does aim for his lips and he does nothing to stop her. When she withdraws with a horrified look in her eyes, he takes her softly around her upper arms and stops her from turn around and run out of the room.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," she says. "I don't know what…"

But he knows, he can read it in her eyes. He places a finger on her lips to silence her.

"Don't be sorry, love. I'm flattered, to say the least."

The panic in her eyes dies, and he sees only what he wants to see. What he sees in his dreams. Very silently he asks:

"Do you want me to kiss you back, love?"

Hermione nods slowly once and rises on her toes again. Sirius is blind and deaf to any voice of reason. He kisses her tenderly. Somewhere in his mind he gets the feeling of a key in a rusty, rarely used lock, unlock what's hidden inside without difficulty. As if all it needed was the right key.

He knows how to kiss her senseless but doesn't. His fingers act however on their own accord to find the hollow in her neck. And, Merlin help him, he strokes her skin in a way that makes her gasp and press herself against him. As if her reaction to his caresses is something she knows. Maybe she does. He wonders how many boys she has kissed before when she opens her lips to him and lets him taste her. He does. He might be cursed to any level of hell for doing so, but he does. He feels her cheeks growing hot against his face and knows he needs to end this before he can't. Lovingly, with closed eyes, he ends the kiss, but keeps her close with his forehead to hers.

"One day, love, when you are a little older, I will turn around and see you in a completely different light. If you then look at me like you just did, I will never leave your side again.

_ I can't possibly be stupid enough to send you away again._

"But please give me, and yourself, a little more time."

He feels her nod slowly again.

"Now go to bed, and sweet dreams, darling."

He turns her around and pushes her softly towards the door. As if hypnotised she leaves. Sirius watches her leave and grabs the desk behind him to prevent himself from following her. Not until he hears her door closing several floors up, he lets go of the sturdy piece of furniture. The key in his mind doesn't click the lock to closed, though.

His hands shake and he pours himself another glass of firewhisky, which he downs at once. He doesn't give a fuck about Santa, and stretches out on the couch. Surrounded by the scent and taste of her he closes his eyes. In Azkaban he could fall asleep and dream of nothing, by sheer willpower. He can still fall asleep almost anywhere, but he can no longer control his dreams. He dreams of his past and her future.

**Was it too much, too soon? Please review.**


	5. 1995, summer

**I really don't know how or when, but suddenly this chapter was written and edited to a publishable form. It's really dark, though, don't say I didn't warn you. And don't forget to drop me a line at the end.**

**Love, Kia**

**18 June 1995, Sirius**

And then Bellatrix catches him by surprise and hits him square in the chest with an _Avada Kedavra_. Distantly he hears her cackle "I killed Sirius Black" in her taunting, shrill voice and he knows she doesn't lie, or even exaggerate, this time. His mind is suddenly crystal clear and filled with the two people he loves most. Harry and Hermione. He has been momentarily distracted by the sight of Hermione in the hands of an unknown Death Eater at his, and the rest of the Order's, arrival, but has managed to shake it off. He knows with absolute certainty that she will make it out of the Department of Mysteries unharmed, or at least alive, because he knows she will be alive two years later. Sometimes he feels that is the only thing in the world he knows.

_But Harry? _

_He has, and will have Hermione._

_Oh, yes._

He releases his last breath and feels the veil in the strange archway pull him towards it. It is not an unpleasant feeling. The unclear voices he has been aware of in the room are suddenly stronger, and with a pang of joy he recognises them. James. Lily. Regulus. Marlene. He is just about to let go completely when his darkest thought yet fills his mind.

_I will not be here for when I send her back from the past. I will send her back to a future I'm no longer part of._

The rest is silence.

* * *

**18 June 1996, Hemione**

She screams. Not as loud as Harry does, and she does not know that the heart-breaking cry that echoes in her ears comes from her own mouth. Heart. Soul. If she were asked later she would assume that the impossible image of Sirius falling, fading, and dissolving into the strange veil that suddenly appears in the empty archway, also gives off this blood-curdling cry.

When she and the four other DA-members arrived in the dark, circular room, the archway was empty. When Sirius falls through it, it fills with… something. Something Hermione knows Sirius can't be found behind, even if it looks as if he could be there, just on the other side. It looks harmless enough; a dark, tattered, semi-transparent veil, but she knows it isn't. Not harmless at all.

No, she does not know that she screams. She doesn't know anything except that what she hoped for in the future can't and won't happen. Sirius is gone and the fluttering butterflies that have danced inside her every time she has thought about him since Christmas, die and burn an empty hole inside her. As the seconds pass she feels the hole fill with pain. She closes her eyes to it, nearly fainting or vomiting by the pain's raw intensity.

_Azure. A dusty cloud of azure blue. Why?_

Hermione focuses on this inner picture, focuses on anything to get away from the pain inside her.

It's pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with more than half of the picture azure blue sky. Not a single piece is joined with another. Most of the pieces are jagged, ripped, burned. She will never see the whole picture. She had only just begun putting the pieces together.

Her eyes flick open when she hears Remus Lupin roar "No!" and sees Harry tear away from him and bolt for the door of the room. Somewhere in her mind she knows she should go after him, she always does. Back-up, protection, support, but now she doesn't care. What is the point? Not even when she realises that he has gone after Bellatrix who cast the killing curse, she cares. She can't move, so what is the point of caring, wanting, aspiring? Or trying?

The Death Eater behind her suddenly disappears, and without his wand against her windpipe she collapses on the dirty floor. She is dizzy from lack of oxygen, but she doesn't breathe in.

_If I just don't… Maybe it will go dark and quiet… And stay so…_

Involuntarily she draws breath when someone grips her around her shoulder and pulls her up. With her eyes closed she doesn't know who it is. It's not Harry or Ron, she knows their timid touches. It's not Ginny or Luna, and she knows Neville is out, knocked unconscious by one curse or another. And why would any of them care? Those who can move will of course run after Harry. They always do, expecting her to be the first among the supporting troops.

"Come on, Hermione. Not here. Let's keep it together a little bit longer. Harry needs us. We have to…"

_Remus Lupin. How did he get from there to here? And why? Why isn't he running after Harry now? Harry is his pet protégé. Not quite godson, but he's competing for a role of similar importance as godfather. Well, congratulations, Remus. He's all yours now._

When Remus slaps her not to gently across her face, she opens her eyes and cries out when she sees her own pain in his amber eyes.

"Not now, Hermione. We'll deal with this later. Sirius is gone, but Harry isn't. He has gone after Bellatrix and I'd rather she didn't kill both of those closest to us tonight."

She leans into his embrace and refuses to move, speak or think. When she decides to not draw in breath again and begins to close her eyes, Remus shakes her hard.

"Damn it, Hermione! I know how you feel about him… felt about him. He did too. But her loves… he loved Harry as well, and you should, you must honour that. Now!"

The contradictive words and tone shakes her out of her daze.

_Harry. Oh, Harry! Don't… don't you dare get yourself killed too…_

Clumsily she begins running, but when she passes the archway with the misty barrier, she slows down to a halt. Voices. Only one in particular discernable. The one she saw fade away.

_I'll be grateful to you forever… You are too compassionate… Brilliant… Beautiful… Don't be sorry, love… I will turn around and see you in a completely different light… I will never leave your side again…_

Suddenly the veil that seemed frightening seconds ago is welcoming. It pulls her towards it. Hermione turns on her heel and is just about to touch it with her raised hand when the same strong hands as before grabs her around her shoulders and jerks her back hard and painfully. She feels the hard and quick heartbeats of Remus against her back, and can't move and barely breathe in his relentless holding.

"Just an echo, love. He's not there. Trust me. You will not meet him there. Not there."

She doesn't understand Remus's words, but follows him listlessly. He holds her hand so hard she accepts that she will not be able to do what she was about to. The only thing she wants to. To follow that voice. She will go back and do it later. When everyone else watches Harry die, or kill Bellatrix, or turn into a three-headed unicorn or something else that won't surprise or move her tonight.

But what happens in the Atrium shakes her out of her state of shock.

Voldemort. In Harry. As if the lizard-like monster isn't sickeningly horrifying in himself, he is suddenly inside Harry.

_This is what possession looks like._

For the umpteenth time she forgets to breathe. Remus has let go of her hand, but instead of going back to where she came from, she grabs the person closest to her. It's Ron, and there is nothing timid about his touch now. They hold onto each other as if on a mountaintop in a hurricane.

And then it's over, and nothing is like before. Minister Fudge is there, in his striped pyjamas and ridiculous bowler hat. After his short "He's back!" he gapes like a fish out of water and nothing more of importance will ever pass his lips. Fudge doesn't care about Harry, he never has, but Hermione does. Ron and she sprint to Harry, slip and fall on their knees in the ashy dust that covers everything. Still holing on to each other they watch their friend.

_Is he here? Or will his eyes be all red and reptile-like when he opens them? If he opens them?_

But he does and it's Harry who looks back at them. Hermione can see that he has no idea what has just happened, but she can also see his pain. And fear. And helplessness. And grief.

_Now what? How will we ever be able to go on? Up against… And without…_

Then Dumbledore snatches Harry out of her sight and into the flashes of the reporters from god knows what news media. She still clings to Ron and he pulls her away from the centre of attention.

Ron is not a man of many words, especially in emotional matters. In an unthinkable tragedy such as tonight he says nothing. His hands and arms around her speak for him, though. He shares her pain and panic, but in silence. She wishes the silence would go on for ever and ever.

* * *

**The rest of the summer 1996**

"I need to study," are the most frequent words Hermione uses during that summer. The first couple of weeks her parents let her lock herself in her room and pretend to do just that.

She doesn't. She has bought all the books for her sixth year, and she hasn't opened one of them. No, that is not true. She has opened one or another randomly picked book when she hears her mother's or her father's footsteps coming closer to her door, and every evening when she pretends to spend time with her parents in front of the telly she brings a special book. Most often she feigns sleep in the new IKEA sofa her parents have bought. She tries not to think of magic in any form. She tries not to think at all. When she feels she has to do something to prove to her parents that she is still alive she focuses on muggle things. Electricity. Ice cream from the freezer. Her bike. A glossy magazine with skinny models wearing British fashion. Her mother takes her shopping in Knightsbridge and Hermione lets her lavish her at Harvey Nichols and Laura Ashley. When her mother suggests the trendy The Library at Brompton Road, Hermione has had enough. The mere name brings memories of rows upon rows of dusty books. She can only think of the library at 12 Grimmauld Place, and she doesn't want to. The lacy pencil dress from Alexander McQueen her mother and she have browsed in Harper's magazine can't even begin to compete with what she wants.

For the duration of the summer she wears only her new clothes or old clothes she's never brought to Hogwarts.

The book she brings down to her parents' living room every evening is a muggle book. As muggle as they come by its appearance, but to her it's the most magical thing in the world. It's the Christmas gift Sirius gave her.

The unassuming pale cover with its dark golden but empty frame lacks the title of the book, and on the second page Sirius's bold handwriting in sepia ink speaks to her stronger than all the following sonnets put together.

_Dear H,_

_My knowledge of the muggle world is indeed limited, but I want you to have this. You will be 18 forever, to me._

_Love,_

_Sirius_

_X_

_PS. If you ever want to sell it, just use an Atramento Evanesco and no dealer in antique books will ever trace the sacrilege I just committed. _

In sonnet no. 18 the son of a glover from Stratford-upon-Avon compares the object of his affection to a summer's day. Hermione feels nothing like a summer's day. The English summer's perfect lawns, cricket matches, iced glasses of Pimm's, flowery dresses, strawberries with cream are as far from how she feels as the next galaxy. The one exception would be the cricket ball. Too battered to care or move in a direction decided by its own will. But a cricket ball in the grimmest of February sub-zero temperature days. Forgotten and uncared for.

She reads and rereads the eighteenth sonnet until she knows it by heart. It's sweet and loving, but to her the line _Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade _is bittersweet. She feels as if she is constantly wandering in the shadow of death. Ever since Harry and she became friends, his parents' deaths have been central in their relationship. She often thinks about what Harry would have been like if he hadn't grown up with uncaring relatives. When Harry is reckless, overly stubborn or just merely thoughtless, she is quick to make mental excuses and compare her own upbringing with his.

Her parents have started to worry, she can tell by the looks they give her.

_Later. I'll deal with later. Or should I tell them? Tell them what? Everything? About Voldemort in the Ministry? About Harry losing the one person he considered family? About me losing…?_

She sighs deeply and clutches the book to her chest. She has put the invaluable book in a soft pocket book cover with a map of London's Underground system. She will of course never sell it, no matter how much a first edition of the sonnets would bring from an auction at Bonhams or Christie's.

She hears her parents in the kitchen. She lies in the sofa in the living room on the other side of the wall, pretending to be asleep while Shakespeare's lines might lull her into real dreamland.

"Is she asleep?" her mother asks and her father gives an affirmative murmur. "Do you think she is all right? She seems so withdrawn, hardly speaks to us. I mean, she's always independent and keeps to herself and her books, but she seems… depressed. What happened this year?"

Her father's low voice is more difficult to discern.

"…perhaps. If it goes on we'll sit down with her and ask her right out. But… …lives in another world than we do… …known this since she was eleven." His voice suddenly grows stronger. "But I've been thinking about going camping together, the three of us. We could go to the Forest of Dean, where we've been before. She can't bring all her books, and that might actually be good for her. Camping and fishing now in early August would be a break for us all. The practice is closed for another two weeks."

Her mother sounds delighted. Hermione is ambivalent.

_Can I spend so much time with them? Without crying all the time? I have to stop crying. I have no right to behave like this. To cry like I've lost my… what? It's not like… It's not like Sirius and I… What was it really? On Christmas Eve? Did he just pity me? Or did he take advantage of… No, of course not. But I need to stop crying!_

* * *

The days after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries Hermione cried with Harry over the loss of Sirius, caring less about what Voldemort planned and what the Daily Prophet wrote about Harry. Ron had also been with them, but more reserved in his grief, if he grieved at all. She means no disrespect with that. Ron has such a large family, so many people he can call his own. Neither Harry nor Hermione has that many people close to them in the magical world. Hermione's parents are so very… muggle. In a good and respectful way, but still light-years away from her life at Hogwarts with her wizards and witches-friends. During those horrible first days after the battle, she saw other people watching them, and she could read their minds in their expressions.

_Oh, poor young ones._

_Such a supportive friend to Harry._

_Maybe that Black wasn't what we thought, after all._

_Thank Merlin, they have each other._

During the informal memorial service with the Order at Grimmauld Place she restrained herself from crying. She feared she would go mad with grief, and the chosen place for the gathering made her cringe. She didn't go into the library, but kept to Harry's side, listening to when professor Dumbledore and then Remus Lupin spoke about their fallen Order member. She tried to imagine they spoke about someone else than the man she dreamed about at night, and whose words in the dedication in the book of sonnets replayed themselves in his voice inside her.

Remus Lupin often glanced in her direction with an expression she couldn't decipher, and after the service she reluctantly let go of Harry and walked over to their former Defense teacher with two cups of tea. He took the proffered cup and smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, professor Lupin," she said.

"It's Remus, Hermione. I'm no longer your professor."

She blushed and felt very young. She had thought about Sirius as Sirius for years, but still wasn't comfortable with the werewolf's first name. She had been writing letters to her former professor ever since he resigned from his teaching position, and he had written her back, frequently. The letters had always been about their common thirst for knowledge, and Remus had in many ways remained in his teaching role.

"And I'm sorry for your loss, Hermione."

She felt dizzy by his direct words.

_He means all of you. Harry, Ron and you._

"Well, yes… I don't know how Harry… It really was the absolute worse that could…" Normally a girl of many words and perfect phrasing, she let her voice trail off.

Remus took a step closer to her and she could see that his eyes were really golden, despite being red-rimmed from grief.

"Do you remember what I said? That night? When you were about to do something very foolish in the Department of Mysteries? In front of that veil?"

Hermione did not want to keep eye-contact with him any longer but there was something so persuasive about his soft voice. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"You heard his voice, didn't you? I know I did. Sirius's voice."

"Yes, yes I did. Why?"

"The voices you hear in front of any of the magical barriers between the living and the dead are voices of those you love who have died. I heard other voices as well. James's. Lily's. My father's. But I know that they are gone and that I cannot get them back by joining them myself."

Hermione looked down and blew on her tea. Remus continued.

"I could see how drawn you were to him. When…"

Hermione flinched and met his eyes in horror.

"Was I…? Could everyone…? I feel so foolish, so child…"

"Stop. No, don't say that. And no, everyone could not see it. I could. And he could."

Hermione blushed and forced herself to wait for Remus to continue.

"And it troubled him a great deal."

Hermione's heart sank and Remus took her softly around her shoulders, distancing them a bit from the others.

"Not in a bad way, love. But you are still so very young, and he had seen you…" Remus broke off. "… had seen so much, and lived such a horrible life in so many ways."

She felt herself tear up and gulped down her tea, forcing herself to be realistic, rational and unsentimental. She couldn't allow herself to give in, not here, not now, and not with Remus Lupin of all people. Not with anyone.

"And now it doesn't matter how old I get. Nothing will ever come out of what I may or may not feel. Nothing ever happened, and nothing ever will. I need to go, Remus. I'll be seeing you around. Keep in touch with Harry, he really needs it."

She took a step back and her followed her with a firmer hold around her shoulders. She found herself in his arms and tried not to think.

"Of course I will. And you too. Don't stop writing. You really are exceptionally bright. I enjoy our correspondence. Sirius knew it too, the brightest witch of your age."

"Not just his age," she muttered before she could stop herself.

She felt him kiss her softly on her cheek. With his lips to her skin he whispered words that would confuse her and haunt her for years.

"Brightest witch of his age too, love. Never forget that."

* * *

On her parents' sofa she lies very still, not wanting to draw their attention to her.

_Whatever did you mean, Remus, with your last words? And what did you mean that night, the night when Sirius… "You will not meet him there. Not there." As if I will meet him somewhere else. Or did you only try to stop me from going… touching… Oh, that misty, thin veil…. If I'd only…_

Her mother's bright voice interrupts her thought and inner monologues. Hermione listens to the plans for food and camping equipment and decides it's a good idea to get out of London and go camping. Change of venue. Her father makes tea and Hermione is just about to shake herself out of her reverie and join them in the kitchen when her mother's tone changes again.

"I saw Violet today," she says in a sad voice.

Violet is a friend of Hermione's mother. A year ago she lost her husband who suffered a severe stroke and never regained consciousness. Hermione knows that Violet has been cutting herself off in her grief and that everyone of her friends has been worrying. She picks up on her parents' conversation.

"I tried to tell her that William wouldn't have wanted her to grieve like this. To stop living, eating, working, seeing friends. Violet agrees with me, but says she can't. She says her life is over, that she doesn't want to live it without him. I've heard her children, they are Hermione's age and younger, are absolutely lost without her, living with relatives, feeling as if they have lost both parents, not just their father. I don't know how to help her. It just hurts to see her." Her mother sobs and Hermione hears her father's soothing low voice.

Hermione's throat aches with unshed tears. When her father suggests they take their tea upstairs she is relieved beyond words. She draws her knees to he chest and cries silently. She knows her mother's words are important in another sense to her. Even if Sirius weren't ever, in any way, hers, he wouldn't have wanted her to grieve like she does. Hermione also knows that it would be good for her to talk to someone about how she feels, but whom?

_I can't tell Mum and Dad. Sirius was closer to their age than mine. And Harry? Yes, Hermione, what would Harry, your brother in everything but blood, think about you having feelings like this for his godfather? His dead godfather? No, I can't tell anyone. Not now. I must get over this alone._

Some nights she is afraid her tears will drown her, and she bites her knuckles raw to stop herself from screaming. Tonight, however, her tears that wet her face, hair and shirtsleeves, make her think about a river. Yes, it would be quite possible to drown in a river as well, but a river can take you places. Forward, for instance. And there are tears enough to create a river to… anywhere. With swollen eyelids, blocked nose and bleeding knuckles, Hermione falls into a half slumber. _So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see; So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. _The sonnet's last words will echo in her mind forever, but tonight her mind conjures up a picture to go with her memory of Sirius's voice.

_The river is here, in front of me. Is it really all my tears? The river doesn't look wide enough hold all my tears. I raise my hand and a small boat appears. I step into it. It has no oars, but slowly the boat drifts away. Away from now and this dreadful, lonely summer. I can glimpse something around the next bend. What is it? I know I've seen it before. It's… It's… Hogwarts._

In her dream she steps out of the small boat, which does not continue down the river, but stays by the riverbank. She is relieved to see that, the boat that waits for her if she would feel the need to continue after Hogwarts. With mixed, but mostly calm and resigned feelings she knows with absolute certainty than the boat will never taker her upstream again. It will not take her back to where she has been this summer, alone with a grief she cannot share. Cannot handle. Cannot live with. Her darkest feelings, mingled with her strongest feelings of love and longing and yearning she has left where she found the boat. She decides to leave them there and go on without, for no one will ever evoke what Sirius could do with only his voice, in her.

**Yes, I know, you hate me, right? Just tell me, lovingly, just how much you hate me for following canon and not inventing a loophole where Sirius doesn't disappears into the land of the dead. This depressed author of fan fiction would feel loads better if you reviewed, and, in turn, take this story further.**


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